


what are you waiting for?

by Slumber



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Chirping as Flirting, College, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: “Suna,” one of the wing spikers says as soon as Osamu walks in, catching them in the middle of a break, “your boyfriend’s here.”Suna's gaze flickers over to Osamu, eyes sparking with something that means trouble. “Oh, yeah, there he is.” He waves, ignoring the dumbfounded look his entire team gives him, ignoring the flash of alarm that must have shown on Osamu’s face when Suna’s lips curl into a slow smile, and he throws him a wink. “Hey, babe.”(“What the fuck,” Osamu asks Suna afterward. “What the hell.”)Fellas, is it gay to pretend to date your old teammate just because you don't have a strong reasonnotto?
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 22
Kudos: 238
Collections: SunaOsa, SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	what are you waiting for?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aiviloti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiviloti/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's, Liv! It's not quite a College AU—I was thinking Suna played for a college team for a bit before the Raijin scouted him—but I hope you enjoy this flavor of fake dating for SunaOsa!

It starts because Suna can’t ever just let anyone get the upper hand.

The volleyball team practices four days a week just three buildings down from where Osamu’s last class ends. It’s right by the convenience store that stocks what Osamu has, after a full week of taste testing, determined to be the best rice balls on campus, and is a natural middle point on his way to Takadanobaba Station. 

He’s starving by the time he makes it out of class, because he made the dumb mistake of registering for the 6th period slot on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so the rice balls are a saving grace. But he hates waiting to eat until he’s all the way back at his apartment—okay, fine, he hates waiting to eat, _period_ —so he decides to slips into the gym next to the convenience store, slinking off toward an unobtrusive corner, and digging in under pretence of watching the team practice.

Suna sees right through him the first day he drops by. 

“What, too cheap to have your dinner somewhere you’ll be allowed to sit down?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow after he walks over to Osamu, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Does this look like dinner to you?” Osamu asks, appalled. “Just something to tide me over. You guys done soon?”

Suna glances back toward his teammates scattered around the court. “Yeah, just a huddle, then we’re good to go.” He turns back to Osamu. “There’s a curry shop right by the station. Wanna get something there?”

“Sure, I’ll wait.” 

From there, it isn’t hard for the post-practice dinner to become kind of a habit. It’s not like Osamu expected to still hang out with the same guy he played with back in high school just because they both happened to end up in the same university, especially since volleyball is no longer part of his life, but he didn’t _not_ get along with Suna. He doesn’t mind having a familiar face to spend a few hours with, twice a week, especially now that he’s in an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar people. 

But not all of Suna’s teammates are the same guys Osamu played with, or even against, back in high school, and it doesn’t take long before his habit of dropping by gets noticed.

“Suna,” one of the wing spikers says as soon as Osamu walks in, catching them in the middle of a break, “your boyfriend’s here.” 

Apart from what he actually says, there’s a singsong lilt to his words that grates on Osamu’s nerves, but he’s been around Atsumu long enough to kick away the instinct to react, to rise to the bait. He pretends not to hear instead, even though the voice echoes loud in the gym, and a couple other guys snicker in response.

Osamu catches the way Suna’s gaze narrows at that, though he gives nothing else away, either. 

(This is where Osamu should have known, in retrospect.)

“What was that?” Suna asks coolly, his gaze flickering over to Osamu, eyes sparking with something that means trouble. “Oh, yeah, there he is.” He waves, ignoring the dumbfounded look his entire team gives him, ignoring the flash of alarm that must have shown on Osamu’s face when Suna’s lips curl into a slow smile, and throwing him a wink. “Hey, babe.”

* * *

It continues because, at the end of the day, Osamu doesn’t really have strong feelings about it.

“What the fuck,” he does ask Suna on their way to dinner after that practice. “What the hell.”

To which Suna simply shrugs. “If you wanna break up with me, that’s cool. But can we still be friends?” 

“You’re such an ass,” Osamu says, elbowing him in the ribs. He kinda gets why Suna doubled down, though, and he’ll admit, that shut them up quick. He’s not sure what he’d have done in Suna’s place. He doesn’t like someone getting the better of him either, that’s for sure. “Do what you want, but I’m not doing any weird shit with you.”

“You’re already doing weird shit with me,” Suna points out, fluttering his eyelashes at Osamu. “Think any of those guys’ actual girlfriends wait for them after practice like this? You’re really so sweet, Osamu-kun. I’m such a lucky guy.”

Osamu just snorts, because Suna’s such a little shit. “Well, it’s not like I know any of those guys, anyway. They’re your teammates, not mine. You fine with that?”

“They’re just in shock, but they’ll get over it.” Suna shoves both hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I was gonna come out at some point anyway, and the earlier the better, don’t you think?”

Osamu almost trips over a crack in the sidewalk. “Wait. What?”

Suna squares his shoulders, the same hard set on his jaw from when his teammates teased them earlier. He keeps his gaze ahead of him. “You fine with that?”

“Yeah, I mean—of course,” Osamu says, cocking his head sideways. “S’just—we didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

Suna shrugs. “It never came up,” he said. He finally glances back at Osamu, and it’s hard to figure out what the even look in his eyes is trying so hard to hide. “It’s not like I had a boyfriend then.”

* * *

Nothing really changes, though.

Osamu continues to show up after class, Suna continues to follow him out. They have dinner, then they head home. Suna’s teammates are deathly quiet the first couple of times immediately after, but they ease up eventually and go back to their normal rowdiness before long. One day, they even invite Suna and Osamu to join them for dinner and drinks.

“It’s up to you,” Suna says when Osamu turns to him.

He can’t tell if Suna wants to, or doesn’t. “Where are you going?” he asks, figuring he’ll decide based on what they’re having.

The team’s got a favorite place for grilled meat, and it doesn’t sound half bad, so Osamu finds himself shoved into a booth with Suna right next to him, and one other teammate squished into the bench meant for two. 

“Alright there?” Suna asks, shifting forward so Osamu has more room in the back. 

“Yeah, this is fine,” Osamu says, turning so he’s half-facing Suna—the better to create more space for them both as well—before he starts placing more meat on the grill. “You want these pork ones, right?”

“Thanks.” Suna moves Osamu’s bowl of rice aside when the waiter arrives with their beers and places Osamu’s glass by his left, so it’s not in the way. He’s too close to the table, though, stomach practically pressed to the edge of it. Can’t be a comfortable position.

“Here,” Osamu says, crossing his legs so Suna could slide a little back into the seat. “Better?”

“Sure.” Suna picks up a few freshly grilled slices of beef, the cut Osamu always ends up ordering twice of when they’re out by themselves, and places them onto Osamu’s plate. 

“Wow,” one of Suna’s teammates says from across the table, leaning his cheek against the palm of his hand as he watches them both. “So how long have the two of you been together?”

Osamu blinks. He turns to Suna, figuring he’d follow his lead.

“It’s a new thing,” comes Suna’s lie, easy as breathing. “Just after graduation.”

“He confessed,” Osamu adds, feeling like he has to say something. 

“Really? That recent?” The teammate—it’s their vice captain, Osamu remembers. Kabakura—whistles. “Could’ve sworn you’ve been going out for years.”

Osamu frowns, glancing at Suna. “Is that so?” he asks. “Guess it’s because we were friends before.”

“Yeah,” Suna echoes, who’s wearing a similarly confused look on his face. “That’s probably it.”

* * *

It’s the middle of the week and Osamu has morning class the next day, but they stay out until pretty late, Suna making one excuse after another to stay for one more round. He hasn’t touched his drink as much since, and he’s barely nibbling on the food, but he waits until the last teammate leaves before he’s ready to go himself.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Osamu groans as he slides out of the booth after Suna, looking at his watch. At least he doesn’t have any work to do for the next day. “Thought you were gonna wanna close down the—whoa!”

He catches Suna by the arm, holds him up against his side. Suna frowns at the floor like it’s done him dirty. “Shit,” he mutters. 

“You’re wasted,” Osamu says, marveling at the sight. “You’ve been wasted since—wait. You didn’t want anyone to know.”

Suna glares at him. “Don’t tell anyone, or I will end you. Even if you are my boyfriend.”

Osamu doesn’t bother disputing that, because— “Hold on a second, this is a special moment,” he says, pulling up his phone to take a shot of Suna. “Gimme a few words for posterity, babe.”

“You’re a dick,” Suna says, shoving Osamu off before he tries—and fails—to stumble away. 

Osamu laughs, grabbing Suna before he falls again. But not before he hits record on the video to capture the moment. Call it insurance—he’s not sure exactly _what_ material Suna has on him, after all. “Alright, alright, come over here,” he says, bending down to let Suna climb onto his back. “Easy does it.”

“M’not a child,” Suna mutters, and it almost sounds like a sulk. 

“Oof, no, you’re not,” Osamu huffs, lifting Suna with a grunt. “You look skinnier than you actually are.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“M’calling myself out of shape.”

Suna huffs, blowing a puff of hot air against Osamu’s neck. His arms tighten around Osamu. “Should’ve kept playing. Are you taking me home?”

“No, I’m taking you to my place.” Osamu glances back. “You’re staying on the couch, and you’re not allowed to throw up anywhere.”

Suna snorts. “You take such good care of me, babe.”

* * *

Suna’s teammates aren’t so bad, now that Osamu’s hung out with them a few times—the initial teasing, he figures out later, seems driven more by wanting to get under Suna’s skin than anything else, since Suna is the way he is. He can’t blame them. But they don’t really press for many details and are more interested in trying to get Osamu to join the team, at least just to help out in practice now and then.

His answer stays pretty much the same and they mostly leave him alone, but they still invite him to go out for team dinners, like, every other week, which means Suna ends up drinking too much, insisting he hasn’t, and staying put until everyone else has gone before he admits any kind of defeat.

“You’re really pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” Osamu asks once, in awe of the way Suna’s face scrunches up into a frown as he battles with, and loses spectacularly to, gravity. 

“Dunno what you mean,” Suna says, then falls asleep at some point between the bar and the train station. 

He all but collapses onto Osamu’s couch as soon as they get home, yanking the blanket that’s more or less become his and burying himself beneath it by habit. He curls into himself, facing the back of the couch, and whines when Osamu tries to coax him to change, but that, too, is habit by now. 

Suna’s snoring heavily when Osamu pads out of his room the next day, the blanket now laying more on the floor than on him. The glass of water and aspirin Osamu had left on the coffee table last night are still untouched. 

That’s gonna be a hell of a hangover.

Osamu pulls the blanket up to his neck, chuckling at the way Suna’s nose wrinkles, a small bubble of air popping out the corner of his mouth. He heads into the kitchen to get the coffee going, then rummages around the fridge and pantry to figure breakfast out. 

He’s chopping up some vegetables for a Western omelette when Suna finally stirs from his couch, a soft thud indicating he’d probably fallen onto the floor and woken himself up. 

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Osamu says, injecting as much irritating cheer and pep into his voice. 

“Piss off,” comes Suna’s half-awake grumble, but Osamu can hear the crinkling of the aspirin blister pack and the gulp of water Suna takes.

“You’re welcome,” Osamu says. “You spilled beer on your shirt last night, so you can grab something from my room if you wanna wash up and change into something less smelly. I’ll have breakfast ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime, jackass.” Osamu rolls his eyes, ignoring the voice in his head that sounds a lot like Atsumu telling him he’s getting way too used to hearing that word out of Suna’s mouth.

* * *

“S’that an omelette?” Suna asks when he’s finished changing, walking into the kitchen and resting a pointy chin on the slope of Osamu’s shoulder, one hand light on his hip. 

Osamu nearly flinches, surprised at the sudden contact, but he wonders if maybe a reaction is what Suna wants, especially after last night when Osamu had managed to record a long diatribe from Suna about the merits of Kita’s cleaning habits for his overall development as a human being—he doesn’t care if it costs him his life, he’s sending the footage to Aran. So instead he leans into the touch, patting Suna’s hand with his own. 

“Only the best for you,” he says sweetly, picking out a portion from the pan and holding it up for Suna to try. “Let me know what you think?”

Suna doesn’t even hesitate. He leans forward, lips closing over the bite and chewing it thoughtfully. He turns to Osamu—his face is too close, Osamu realizes with a start, but neither of them moves away—and smiles. “It’s delicious,” he says. 

“Great, then if you could get us both some coffee from the pot I’ll get these out and—” His chopsticks clatter to the floor, the pan almost going with it had Osamu not instinctively caught it before it was too late.

“Alright there, babe?” Suna asks, glancing back from where he’s setting the table, the MIYA 11 of Osamu’s old Inarizaki jersey in stark white lettering on his back. 

“Fine,” Osamu pushes out through gritted teeth, because what the hell, what the hell, what the flying _fuck_. 

* * *

“I hear yer dating Sunarin!” Atsumu crows when Osamu answers his call.

Osamu hangs up.

Atsumu calls again, because he doesn’t take hints that easily no matter how hard Osamu tries, and this time when Osamu picks up he says, “Do you actually have a reason for calling or are ya just gonna bug me about that?”

“Wait, is that for real?” Atsumu asks. “Heard it from a friend of a friend, but I figured someone got it wrong somewhere.”

Osamu sighs. He doesn’t normally keep secrets from his brother, but Atsumu also normally doesn’t keep secrets from the world. “It’s—” he starts, looking up at the ceiling and praying for answers. But maybe he’d have better chances with the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. “Complicated.”

Well. 

That’s as close to the truth as he’s gonna get, actually. 

* * *

Osamu’s always gotten on well with Suna—he’s not sure if he could call them best friends, but they got along and understood each other well enough, sharing not just similar senses of humor but also a united goal of picking on Atsumu for being the way he was. Suna was low-key and unobtrusive, content to observe trouble instead of start it, which is why Osamu, being Atsumu’s brother, has always liked his company. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s never been wary. 

Because the thing with Suna—the thing that Osamu’s known a while now—is that he can’t ever just let anyone get the upper hand. 

He couldn’t let it happen with anyone back in Inarizaki—not even Kita, and definitely not Atsumu—he couldn’t let it happen with his college team, and now, he obviously doesn’t want to let it happen with Osamu, either. 

And the secret, hidden thing about Osamu is this: even though Suna’s never actually turned his attention to him, even though he’s never been on the receiving end of Suna’s pointed stare or calculating gaze, he’s always, _always_ felt like he was one misstep away from being caught underfoot—upended by Suna Rintarou getting the upper hand on him. 

Especially now.

It becomes clearer since the day Suna walked out of Osamu’s room dressed in Osamu’s old jersey, and it’s reinforced by the days that follow—the lilting tone in the way he calls Osamu _babe_ , the lingering warmth of his hand on Osamu’s skin, the spark of something playful in his eyes whenever Osamu happens to turn and catch his gaze, even though they’re both alone, no one else around to pretend in front of. 

They’re innocuous enough too, most of the time, nothing more than fleeting moments catching Osamu off-guard. But there’s an intent behind the actions, these days, that feels almost like a taunt. A challenge. 

Osamu thinks, if Suna plays it the way he’s likely to, Osamu will probably lose. 

And that’s exactly why he digs his heels in. Plays right into it. Responds right back.

For every _babe_ thrown his way, Osamu shoots back a lovestruck smile; for each brush of a touch, Osamu leans into it easily enough, as though to ask for more; for every knowing smile, Osamu holds Suna’s gaze in return. 

Suna just smirks back, the flirtation remaining light, the banter coy, until they’ve got to part ways or someone interrupts, and Osamu’s left alone to realize his pulse has spiked something wild, and there’s warmth in his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

He refuses to back down from Suna, but he still feels like he’s losing.

“Class looks like it got you good today,” Suna tells him, reaching up to flick Osamu’s baseball cap off his head. 

“Hey!” Osamu protests, leaning down to pick up his cap. He freezes mid-rise, held still by the weight of Suna’s palm on his head. “What’re you doing?”

“Your hair’s all flat now,” Suna says, ruffling his fingers through Osamu’s hair. He smiles, slow and lazy, as Osamu stands up and blinks at him. He flicks a few strands this way and that, looking pleased with himself. “There we go.”

“Like what you see?” Osamu asks, his head still tingling from the touch even though Suna’s shoved both hands back in the pockets of his jacket.

Suna’s smile gives absolutely nothing away. “Maybe I do.”

* * *

“Got enough space there, babe?” Osamu asks at another dinner with Suna’s team. He’s only asking because Suna keeps maybe-not-accidentally leaning into him. The team really should find a place with more seating.

Suna glances at him from over his shoulder. “Sorry, am I in your way?” 

Osamu shakes his head, drapes his left arm over the back of Suna’s section of the bench so it opens up room for Suna to press closer against his side. “Not at all,” he says, thinking, _aha!_ because he might’ve caught Suna’s pupils growing wide for a millisecond before they’re back to their usual unaffected, even gray. “Better?”

There’s a beat of a moment, then Suna leans all the way in, nestling himself comfortably against Osamu. “Much.”

* * *

“How about your place?” Suna suggests when Osamu asks him where he wants to eat. 

“My place,” Osamu echoes.

“You told Kabakura you cook,” Suna says. “Kinda weird your boyfriend’s never tasted it.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you’ve had breakfast over at my place many times.”

Suna gasps, placing his palm to his chest. “Is that all I am to you?”

“If all you wanted was a free meal,” Osamu says with an amused roll of his eyes, nudging Suna by the shoulder, “then all you had to do was ask.”

“I’ll buy the ingredients,” Suna mumbles. “There’s a grocery store nearby, right?”

“Hm? Yeah, but that’s okay, I have—”

“I want okonomiyaki,” he declares. “The ones here suck. So, unless you have all those ingredients handy, we’ll probably need to get them somewhere.”

Osamu grins. “Alright, have it your way.”

* * *

“Thought you didn’t wanna do weird shit,” Suna says.

Osamu turns to him, the question dying on his lips when he follows Suna’s gaze down to their hands. Osamu’s not exactly _holding_ it, per se, but he _has_ been tracing idle patterns on—not the couch, after all, but the back of Suna’s hand. “Um.”

“Kanji?” Suna guesses, the flash of mischief in his gaze a warning sign for Osamu. “Suna Osamu, maybe? Aw, babe, if you wanted to put a ring on it—”

“It’s a habit,” Osamu says, rolling his neck. They’d put on a movie Suna’s entire team has apparently already seen and highly recommended, but— “Something I do when I’m bored. Your whole team liked this shit?”

Suna snorts. “Every single one of them,” he says, shaking his head. “Also, should you really be bored when you’re in the presence of your boyfriend?”

“Oh, I’m in the presence of my boyfriend?” Osamu asks, cocking his head. “Pardon me, I couldn’t tell, as I’ve barely heard a—”

“Huh,” is what Suna says, turning his hand over and sliding his palm right against Osamu’s, their fingers interlocking. “My bad, then.”

His hand is kind of cold, rough where Suna’s fingers are taped, calloused where the leather of a volleyball has probably met skin a hundred thousand times over drills, practices, games. Osamu tests the heft of it in his palm, closing his fingers to clasp it and watching Suna mirror his movements. 

_Huh_. 

So that’s how it fits. 

“It’s okay, I’m not that beat up over it,” Osamu says. What is he even saying? He doesn’t know, at this point. “Just make it up to me.”

“Yeah?” Suna glances up at Osamu. “What do you want me to do about it?”

There’s something unreadable in Suna’s gaze, when Osamu catches it, clear gray eyes flickering with a flash of—not a challenge, no. A question, maybe? Or is that uncertainty? 

Maybe it’s both.

And maybe right now, it’s Osamu who’s got the upper hand, after all.

“I dunno,” he says, but he dips his head down, angling his face to meet Suna’s halfway. “Maybe some weird shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always super welcome. ♥ 
> 
> If you liked what you've read, you can [share the tweet here](https://twitter.com/slumberish/status/1360821651663958019). I've also written a handful of [other Haikyuu!! fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/works?fandom_id=758208), including [some SunaOsas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462247).


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